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Comfort in Reverse

By Éan BirdPublished 4 months ago Updated 4 months ago 1 min read
Back to the Start
Photo by Chandler Cruttenden on Unsplash

You want a poem about comfort? Here


Words delivered on accident. What celebrated

excuses made to inquire, claw past curiosity

overflowing in baskets of flowers

curtains moved, eyes peep through, to a home

Sleep beholds temper within us

Comfort rests on lids best closed.


Now for word limit.


I once knew comfort. I knew it real good. I wooed it under a stairwell. Comfort petted, comfort called pretty. I vowed comfort forever. Until my husband sat me down at the kitchen table to make a decision. I chose leaving, in the end.


I would have taught forever. Even after winning the lottery. I would have magic field tripped through the universe. I would have spun and spun and spun under hand crafted flags like that lady on the side of a mountain singing some auf wiedersehen alphabet. If asked, I would have repeated it one thousand times over.


But something happened after a Friday in March, and I awoke screaming in a classroom. Now, I can’t remember who or what is responsible for pressing the designator. Because it all imploded into prismatic clouds of glass. Poof. Nothing left. No pieces to duck tape back together.


Comfort does not exist.

It goes both ways.

Composed backwards.



fact or fiction

About the Creator

Éan Bird

Reluctant Writer. Teacher.

Hawking vocal contests for love letters.

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  • Melissa Ingoldsby4 months ago

    Hmm so very introspective I enjoyed that

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